Cha. Provided he may command you—
Marpl. Me! why I live for no other purpose— Sir George, I have the Honour to be carest by most of the reigning Toasts of the Town, I'll tell 'em you are the finest Gentleman—
Sir Geo. No, no, prithee let me alone to tell the Ladies—my Parts—can you convey a Letter upon Occasion, or deliver a Message with an Air of Business, Ha!
Marpl. With the Assurance of a Page and the Gravity of a Statesman.
Sir Geo. You know Miranda!
Marpl. What, my Sister Ward? Why, her Guardian is mine, we are Fellow Sufferers: Ah! he is a covetous, cheating, sanctify'd Curmudgeon; that Sir Francis Gripe is a damn'd old—
Char. I suppose, Friend, you forget that he is my Father—
Marpl. I ask your Pardon, Charles, but it is for your sake I hate him. Well, I say, the World is mistaken in him, his Out-side Piety, makes him every Man's Executor, and his Inside Cunning, makes him every Heir's Jaylor. Egad, Charles, I'm half persuaded that thou'rt some Ward too, and never of his getting: For thou art as honest a Debauchee as ever Cuckolded Man of Quality.
Sir Geo. A pleasant Fellow.
Cha. The Dog is Diverting sometimes, or there wou'd be no enduring his Impertinence: He is pressing to be employ'd and willing to execute, but some ill Fate generally attends all he undertakes, and he oftner spoils an Intreague than helps it—